


Victory or Death

by writterings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (its lotor), (kinda), Character Study, Drabble, Episode s05e06: Secret of the White Lion, Gen, Morally Ambiguous Character, i just rlly liked the white lion ep of s5 ok, not a shipping fic, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 09:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13854936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writterings/pseuds/writterings
Summary: The rules were always simple; victory or death. Lotor knew this from childhood.But he also knew that the rules weren't the same for everyone else.





	Victory or Death

**Author's Note:**

> listen this fic isnt meant to like present lotor as an "uwu i am so tragic" type of character but rather its my own exploration of his character. tbh i would love to write a much longer (and prob better written since i powered this out at 1 am) character-study fic on him but i Quite Literally Have No Time To Write At All. such is life. enjoy the show.

Indoctrination was a tricky but overall effective business. First, of course, the message to-be indoctrinated had to be subtly introduced in a way that wouldn’t arouse suspicion to those hearing it. It also had to be short, something memorable, that would be able to be repeated over and over again subconsciously in the back of the recipient's mind until it was second nature.

It was only fitting that for the Galra, their specific brand brainwashing was the simple phrase of “Victory or death’.

It was snappy, and to the point. Expressed every single Galra ideal without getting into specifics. As long as you succeeded, you would not die. If you died, you obviously did not succeed. There was no failure, no second chances, no loopholes. Living was a luxury only the profitable could afford. 

Which meant being profitable -- being victorious -- came about by any means necessary.

Lotor was not a stranger to this concept; in fact, he embraced it. Do what you need to win. Winning means survival. Survival means continuing on. What happened after that, he wasn’t quite sure. The cycle typically just started over again. Continue on until another battle. Win that. Survive. Continue on. 

That was, until, he finally reached a point where his father apparently decided he was a bit too old for the typical Galra-upbringing. While everyone else was out there fighting quite literally for their lives regardless if they escaped the battle or not, Lotor was sent away -- some far off planet on the edge of the galaxy. Zarkon had mentioned it had something to do with him finally learning what it meant to rule. 

And learned to rule he did; or rather, lead. The people of the planet he was sent to were fascinating, mostly because he had never seen a race outside of the Galra before. He took to their culture immediately, immersing himself in it and making sure he got down all the proper customs. He made friends on that planet too; a shy girl with a mysterious glint in her eyes, a loud boy who never seemed to stop talking, and an older shop worker in a store he passed by most days. He also worked out a deal with the local leaders to mine enough Quintessence so that they could still meet their quota while reserving enough so that it could be replenished. 

Lotor got so caught up in this new way of life that he almost forgot the most important lesson he’d ever learned. 

But Zarkon made sure he’d remember it. 

Lotor hadn’t conquered that world. While there was still an imperialist undertone to his hands-off approach in leadership, his work there counted as a failure. He hadn’t ruled. He hadn’t subjugated the planet. He hadn’t won. 

So Zarkon did it for him, choosing the fate all of that he had come to know.

The girl with the shy face and that held so many secrets when she talked. The boy that he could hardly keep up with when his mouth was running a mile a minute and his hands moving twice as fast. The older shop worker who had provided more of a sense of parental guidance that either of Lotor’s parents had in the past decapheebs. The leaders he had strategized the Quintessence quota with. All the people he knew. That entire planet, that entire world. 

The rules had always been simple, from day one: victory or death.

And death, Lotor soon learned, did not necessarily mean his own.

 

* * *

 

He recounted this entire tale to Princess Allura years later. He wasn’t sure why or what had brought it to mind, but it felt rather cathartic to speak about considering that was something he had never done before. And the Princess, she just looked on at him with a mixture of pity and sympathy. 

And he understood why, though he wished he hadn’t. 

It was nice to walk with the Princess. To talk to her. She wasn’t shy, or loud, or vaguely parental, but someone more like him. A child raised in war, a child raised to rule, a child who was pretending that they weren’t a child anymore. Her voice was typically soft, her words always carrying knowledge, her light and growing-familiar touches always brief and full of compassion. When he looked at her, he knew his face grew soft but not for reasons of romance or even friendship that an outsider might interpret it as. 

He envied her. He had said so plainly enough before unwarrantedly launching into the story of his past experiences. But he envied her more than just in regards to who her father was, but in how she was raised. A child raised in war, a child raised to rule, a child who was pretending that they weren’t a child anymore; but a child raised with love. A child who could afford to be soft, to show weakness. A child who knew failure, and retreat, and shame, but was still alive regardless. 

A person who saw victory and death, but also other options as well. 

And his face grew soft when he looked upon her with envy, because there was also a longing to be like that as well. 

The two of them then journeyed on in silence, save for the moments where he interjected some facts about the research he had done about Oriande. Again, he wasn’t quite sure why he was doing so; the Princess was probably more knowledgeable than him in regards to Altean folklore. But he still spoke on, and again it felt rather cathartic, if Lotor were to put a word on. And the Princess, again, just listened to him speak with a type of sympathetic patience. 

A few things then led to another. The Princess proved they were worthy to the Guardians of Life. She figured out how to work the teleduv, and stopped the room from crushing them both. They exchanged a smile at the prospect of being alive, and seeing that the other was alive as well (a concept Lotor wasn’t quite used to). Before either could say a word, however, there soon was a bright light.

And then....nothing. 

Lotor felt panic when he realized the Princess wasn’t there. He called out her name, but received no answer. Looking around, he could see a beautiful yet almost translucent landscape all around him. And then there was a growl.

A white lion stood before him, baring its teeth and coiling back on its hind legs in preparation to pounce. It would have been feeble to run, and not to mention weak; Lotor stood his ground and braced for impact.

And impact did come. He was thrown backwards with the force of the lion pinning him down, luckily not getting his arms. He held its jaw open just inches away from his face and he ended up starting down it’s massive maw.

With much effort, he threw it off and quickly got to his feet. The lion stared across at him from its new position. It snarled, he felt himself snarl back. A blade seemingly appeared in his hand before he could question why.

He charged.

“Victory or death!”

The lion did as well. 

They met in the middle, claws and sword point at each other. But Lotor’s weapon proved to be longer. He slashed once and the beast fell. He waiting a full minute, looking down at its carcass, waiting for something, anything to happen to confirm that he was a worthy Altean -- just as worthy as he knew the Princess would prove herself to be. And then-

Nothing.

Again.

He blinked.

He was standing outside a set of white doors, sword still in hand. He shifted his feet for a battle stance, waiting for the next challenge. His eyes roamed, looking for it.

It took him all of a split-second to realize what was actually happening.

An anguished cry released from his lips. The doors were familiar, as if he’d just seen them -- which he had. He was back outside the teleduv room, locked out and left alone. His sword clattered to the ground and he fell to his knees.

He had failed.

And the rules had been simple enough; victory or death. 

And he had chosen both. 


End file.
